


The Case of the Maze Runners (and Subsequent Perusal of Alternative Treatments in Allergen Immunotherapy)

by picturestoproveit



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: British Tourist Traps, Convoluted Case Plot, Fellatio, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, One Shot, Outdoor Sex, Petulant Sherlock, Porn With Very Little Plot, So please prep and lube your comments accordingly, That's Captain John Watson to you, This is my first attempt at slash fiction, Trigger Warning: Seasonal Allergies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picturestoproveit/pseuds/picturestoproveit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spring is in the air, royal artifacts are being stolen, and John Watson is stuck in a hedge maze with an allergy-ridden sociopath. What's a doctor (and a soldier) to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of the Maze Runners (and Subsequent Perusal of Alternative Treatments in Allergen Immunotherapy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuickLikeLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickLikeLight/gifts).



> For my very dear friend Anne, who has not had the easiest few weeks and deserves nothing more than some good old-fashioned, spring-themed, Johnlock porn. 
> 
> Based off of her prompt from the Springlock Exchange on Tumblr, which involved stereotypical spring activities, I think. I hope I did it justice. 
> 
> "I tried, therefore you can't criticize me." :)

“Annnd…another dead end, “ John sighed in frustration. He spun around and glared at his partner. “Explain to me, _again_ , why we just chased a suspect into a bloody _hedge maze?_ ” he demanded, his tone dripping with annoyance.

Sherlock didn’t appear to be listening. John watched in exasperation as the detective’s eyes danced behind closed eyelids. “A lot of this could have been avoided if we had just grabbed a map _at the beginning of the tour, like I suggested_ ,” John snapped.

“I don’t _need a map_ , John, “ Sherlock retorted, opening his eyes to cast a withering stare in the doctor’s direction. “Besides, we’re not looking for-“

His sentence was cut short as he pitched forward and sneezed forcefully.

John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, will you just take the bloody antihistamine?” he pleaded, handing his partner a worn handkerchief.

Sherlock snatched the fabric from John’s fingers. “No, John, I will not _take the bloody antihistamine_ ,” he mocked petulantly, wiping his nose. “Dulls the mind, slows me down. I can’t afford to –“ Sherlock stopped again, his nose twitching. “-can’t afford to be –“ he continued, struggling to control himself, screwing his face up so comically that John couldn’t help but grin.

“Yeah? Go on, love. Can’t afford to be _what_?” John asked innocently.

“…to be…to be…” Sherlock wheezed, waving his hands frantically for a few seconds before finally clapping them over his face and giving in. “ _ACHOOO!”_ he sneezed, his large hands doing little to muffle the sound.

“…to be hindered,” Sherlock concluded, somewhat pathetically.

John gazed at him, shaking his head slightly, allowing himself to be filled with the unique mixture of emotions that only Sherlock Holmes was capable of producing: vexation, affection, irritation, adoration…

Sherlock straightened, tugging his shirt collar away from his neck, exposing his collarbone briefly.

… _lust._

John shook his head, breaking himself from his brief reverie, allowing _irritation_ to take the forefront. “Yeah, Sherlock, because right now, you aren’t hindered _at all,_ ” John mocked. “Even if we could _find_ the suspect in this stupid maze, we certainly couldn’t sneak up on him, “ he persisted, staring up into Sherlock’s watery eyes. “Your sneezing gives away our position. Slightly. “

“Oh, thank you very much, Captain Watson, for educating me on proper military tactics, “ Sherlock spat, folding the handkerchief and tucking it into his trouser pocket. He turned and doubled back down the gravel path, his eyes flitting rapidly over the hedges. “I’m sure the ability of your unit to suppress their sneeze reflex contributed to your _wildly_ successful tour of duty in Afghanistan, “ he grumbled as he stalked off, rounding the corner and out of sight.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, “ John called out as he followed Sherlock’s path. 

A cool spring breeze rustled through the hedges, softly ruffling John’s sandy hair. It had truly been beautiful day, especially by early April’s standards. The warm temperature and gentle winds had been a welcome change from the cold drizzle that had plagued the area for weeks. Quite simply, it was the perfect day to explore the grounds of the Hampton Court Palace. At several points during the afternoon, John had nearly forgotten that they were on a case as he and Sherlock wandered about the impressive Tudor palace, searching for clues as to who was behind the recent rash of disappearing royal artifacts.

John was so content to bask in the warm spring air, coupled with the (occasionally) pleasant company of his lover, that he had barely noticed when Sherlock started rubbing his eyes as they strolled through the Privy Garden.

And when the sniffling and sneezing started in earnest, John had found himself having to suppress a fit of giggles.

Sherlock Holmes had hay fever.

John had a hard time explaining to Sherlock why he found his condition to be so amusing. It was just so… _ordinary_. So human. And those were John Watson’s favourite moments when it came to life with Sherlock Holmes. As dazzling as it was to watch Sherlock’s amazing mind unravel the most complex puzzles with lightning-fast speed, John much preferred the instances that brought Sherlock down to earth; the joyful reminders that this amazing man was just that – a man. A mere, flesh-and-blood mortal that for whatever reason, chose _him_ to share those moments of weakness with.

Sherlock’s current “moment of weakness” had begun to intensify as they walked the length of the Great Vine, yet he vehemently rejected John’s repeated offers of an antihistamine (the doctor always carried two tabs in his pocket, never knowing if and when Sherlock would slip something into his tea that could trigger an allergic reaction). John had been busy considering the mechanics of pinning Sherlock down and stuffing the pill down his throat when suddenly, their suspect came into view. (“A chocolate chef wearing a Tag Heuer watch?” Sherlock had scoffed during the guided tour of the palace. “I wasn’t aware that the demand for peddling subpar confections to tourists was so high.”) The suspect, at least a hundred yards ahead, was clutching a small wooden chest and walking rapidly toward the entrance of the old hedge maze, which had resulted in John’s current predicament: twenty minutes of walking into lush, green dead- ends, accompanied by the world’s only consulting sneezy man-child.

John stormed around the corner, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “You know Sherlock,” John continued angrily,  “if we somehow manage to find our way out of this maze before next week, remind me not to….” John trailed off as he took in the sight before him: Sherlock Holmes, on his hands and knees, tongue protruding, and _licking a goddamn hedge._

“What the HELL are you doing?” John exclaimed. Sherlock snapped his head around. “What does it look like, John?” he remarked petulantly. “I’m tasting this bush.” He turned back and reburied his face into the leafy green shrub.

“Oh god…way too many jokes there…” John muttered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Why, Sherlock?” he asked wearily. “ _Why_ are you tasting that bush?”

“My sense of smell has been severely compromised, “ Sherlock responded, snuffling as if on cue. “I have to rely on my other senses if I’m going to confirm my suspicions.”

John inhaled slowly, struggling to maintain what little patience he had remaining. “And what suspicions would those be, Sherlock?” he asked as evenly as possible.   

Sherlock sat back on his heels and looked at John, the familiar smugness returning to his watery eyes. “That THIS is a privet hedge,” he announced triumphantly.

John stared at him blankly.

Sherlock sighed dramatically. “PRIVET, John,” he said, gesturing toward the hedge.

John blinked. “Yeah, sorry. Still not following,” he answered wrily.

“Privet has not been used in this maze since the 1960s,” Sherlock explained. “The walls were replaced with yew, _exclusively_ , until 2005, when the inner walls were replaced with hornbeam.”  His eyes began to glitter in excitement, and John couldn’t suppress the tingle that crawled up his spine. It was during those split seconds, the ones right before Sherlock would launch into a deduction, that he seemingly became pure energy. His excitement and vitality were more than infectious – they were palpable, radiating from his tightly wound body and crackling through the air around him, electrifying anyone or anything that happened to be standing in its wake.

“So…someone replaced a section of hornbeam with a section of privet…” John mused slowly. “…why would someone do that?”

“As a marker, “ Sherlock answered confidently. Eyebrow raised, he returned his steely focus back toward the privet and rubbed his reddened nose briefly on his sleeve. He furrowed his brow as he reached into the hedge, gripping the stiff branches. Tugging sharply, he made a small noise of triumph as a three-foot section of the wall came away in his hands.

“Privet has a relatively shallow root system,” Sherlock announced. He placed the cube of shrubbery next to him on the gravel path and poked his head through the opening.  “Which makes it fairly easy to pull up and replant when necessary,” he continued, his voice muffled behind the wall of greenery.  John stared in silent awe as Sherlock wiggled back out into the path, clutching the small wooden box in his hands.

“Is that…that’s the box the chef was carrying,” John remarked. Sherlock hummed and nodded, sitting back on his heels and slowly removing the lid of the ancient-looking chest. John took a few steps forward and peered over Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Silverware,” John noted, slightly disappointed.

“Silverware, “ Sherlock echoed enthusiastically. He reached into the box and plucked out a tarnished fork. “Non-alloy, solid silver,” he stated, holding the fork up to his eyes, turning it slowly between his fingers as he continued his examination. “Significantly tarnished, etchings on the handles nearly worn away… I would say this set of silverware is over three hundred years old,” Sherlock concluded excitedly.

John blinked. “Okay…” he said slowly, attempting to process the data before him.  “so…why leave it in the maze?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Security cameras, John,” Sherlock explained. He delicately placed the fork back into the chest and closed the lid. “There are surveillance cameras located at every entrance of the palace, and spread throughout the grounds,” he continued, pausing for a moment to release another great sneeze. He swiped the well-used handkerchief across his nose impatiently. “The palace cameras are on twenty-four hours a day, but the cameras on the grounds only turn on after dusk – saves both money and improves employee performance. Too many CCTV images and the guard would be become overwhelmed in the control room,” Sherlock expounded through his sniffles. “There are twenty-one cameras in total, yet only two of them have digital recording capabilities – the camera at the main gate, and the camera at the employee entrance.”

“So the rest of the cameras are simply monitors, “ John affirmed, his gaze floating upward and quickly locating the single surveillance camera suspended over the entrance of the maze.

“Precisely.  So the problem for our smugglers –“

“Wait, _smugglers?_ As in…more than one?”

“Yes, John, _do_ try and keep up, “ Sherlock scoffed, though the exasperation in his voice seemed to be more for show than anything.  “We can confirm that there are no less than _three_ suspects based on today’s information alone, and as long as Scotland Yard can manage not to bungle the arrest too badly, they will likely uncover at least four more.”

“So…the chocolatier…and…who else?” John asked, furrowing his brow.

Sherlock stared at him as he stood up slowly, stretching his long limbs and softly groaning in such a way that made John’s mouth go slightly dry. Sherlock may not have been the most experienced lover he had ever had, but one thing was for certain: the man was a fucking tease, and he knew _exactly_ how to play John Watson.

He took several slow steps toward John until he was standing right in front of him. “The chocolatier _and…._ ” Sherlock prompted quietly, lowering his pitch slightly. His blue eyes burned brightly as he gazed down at John, his head cocked slightly, the beginnings of a smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth.

John cleared his throat roughly. “Uh…yeah…the chocolate chef and….” He tore his eyes away from Sherlock’s throat long enough to note the surveillance camera again.

“…and the security guard in the control room?” John offered.  Sherlock’s face lit up. He took another small step forward, close enough for John to feel the heat radiating off of him, to smell his skin. “ Very good, John,” he murmured. “One more, now. Who’s the third?”

John’s pulse quickened. “ I have no idea,” he answered thickly, trying desperately to resist the urge to grab the detective by the shirt and pull him down for a kiss, runny nose be damned.

“Come on, John. _Think_. Where are we?” Sherlock implored.

“We’re in a bloody maze.”

“And what do we know about this maze?”

John looked around again. “It has a privet bush where it shouldn’t.” He scrunched his face in concentration. “And a security camera that doesn’t turn on until the grounds are closed,” he articulated slowly. He looked back up at Sherlock and met his gaze

“The night groundskeeper,” John said, unable to keep the proud smile off of his face.

Sherlock was positively beaming as he took that final step forward and closed the gap between their bodies, once and for all. “Precisely, “ Sherlock exclaimed, gripping John’s hips with both hands and pulling him flush to his body. John released an involuntary groan and pressed his pelvis forward, his cock half-hard and desperate for friction.

Sherlock chuckled softly. “The groundskeeper enters the maze at some point during the night, “ he explained, bending low to speak the words directly into John’s ear. “He retrieves the items, hides them on his cart, and smuggles them off the grounds, where eventually they’re sold on the black market to the highest bidder, ” Sherlock concluded, his breath warm and sweet on John’s neck.  John shivered slightly, his trousers now becoming uncomfortably tight.

Sherlock placed a tiny kiss directly below John’s earlobe. “I knew you’d figure it out,” he murmured appreciatively. John moaned softly, the weight of Sherlock’s erection pressing heavily against his lower abdomen, his own cock throbbing against Sherlock’s hip.

Sherlock pulled away slightly and slid his hand between their bodies “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling his mobile from his jacket pocket. “Just one moment. “  Sherlock rested his forehead against John’s, and they both watched the screen as he typed out a quick message to Detective Inspector Lestrade:

_Arrest the head chocolate chef, second-watch guard, and night groundskeeper – SH_

The reply came nine seconds later:

_HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT MY FUCKING DIVISION CALL LARCENY JESUS CHRIST_

John chuckled. “Poor Greg. Maybe you _should_ tell larceny, yeah?” he said with a smile.

Sherlock grinned. “He’ll handle it, “ he said confidently, sliding the phone back inside his pocket.  He smoothed his jacket with one hand and reached for John again.

“You know, Dr. Watson,” Sherlock began softly. “I’ve read that the human orgasm can produce an antihistamine response similar to the pharmacokinetics of most over the counter medications.”

John stifled a groan as Sherlock ran his hand lightly down his chest, stopping at his waistband to hook his slender fingers beneath the stiff fabric of his trousers.

“That is completely untrue, “ John responded breathlessly. “Believe or not, I _do_ actually know how the human body works.”

Sherlock slipped his arm around John’s waist and began pressing a series of open-mouthed kisses along his jawline. “Mmm, yes. You certainly do,” Sherlock murmured against the delicate skin of John’s throat.

John clutched the front of Sherlock’s jacket and tipped his head back, his breath escaping in short gasps as Sherlock worked his way down his neck to his collarbone.

“However…ah…I’ve read some research out there that…shows… _Jesus Christ Sherlock…_ that semen can be helpful in reducing sinus inflammation,” John somehow managed to verbalize, a major effort considering the extremely distracting way Sherlock was massaging the aching bulge in his trousers.

Sherlock clucked his tongue and laughed softly. “I expected better from you, John,” he chided wickedly, catching John’s earlobe between his teeth, drawing another strangled gasp from the doctor. “Soliciting fellatio by citing false research. _Quite_ unethical, if you ask me.”

“You just did the same thing, you prick,” John retorted, his voice strangled.

“Yes, well, that’s to be expected,” Sherlock smirked. He pulled back from John’s neck and leaned in quickly, claiming his mouth and tongue with a wicked, bruising kiss. “You should know my methods by now, John,” he said roughly as he pulled back, his pale eyes glinting in the late afternoon sun. He returned his attentions to the other side of John’s throat. “There isn’t much I won’t do or say to get my intended result,” he chuckled before trailing his tongue along John’s pounding pulse point.

Despite the fact his body was practically on fire, John couldn’t suppress an eye roll. “God, you are such an arrogant sod,” he breathed. Sherlock merely smiled against John’s skin and continued his confident ministrations.

That’s when John decided it was time to take his lover down a peg or two.

 While he certainly did not shy away from the submissive role from time to time, he never could quite resist the rush of putting Sherlock Holmes in his place whenever the opportunity presented itself. And oh… in the end, how easy it was.

“Well, then, let’s not consider that a solicitation,” John said evenly, using every last ounce of bodily control to keep the tremor from his voice. He placed his hands on Sherlock’s hipbones and pushed him away slightly, his grip firm and commanding.  John looked up at the detective with the sternest expression he could muster, given the current circumstances.  “Let’s consider that an order,” he said.

Sherlock immediately froze, in such a way that made it exceedingly difficult for John not to burst out laughing.

It was so easy, actually, that it was almost unfair.

John couldn’t quite quash his smirk as he reached for Sherlock’s collar and pulled until the detective’s ear was resting against his lips. “On your knees, private,” John whispered, reveling in the involuntary shudder that ran through Sherlock’s lean frame right before he dropped to the ground, kneeling at John’s feet and waiting silently for his orders.

John carded his fingers gently through Sherlock’s dark curls before tightening his grip and tugging the detective’s head back slightly. “You know what to do, “ John murmured, running his fingers the rest of the way though Sherlock’s hair before sliding his hand down the back of his head and resting it on the nape of his neck.

Sherlock needed no more direction as he reached out and unfastened the button on John’s trousers, quickly working the zip. He lunged forward, grasping John’s hips for balance, and began pressing his lips and tongue along the hardened lines of his cock, hot and pulsing through the thin covering of his boxers.

John moaned as the warm, wet heat of Sherlock’s mouth dampened his clothed erection and sent shockwaves of pleasure through every fiber of his body. That was all it took for John to immediately abandon the notion of maintaining any kind of control. His breathing labored, he hastily reached into his own pants and pulled his straining prick through his open fly.

Sherlock wasted no time, taking John firmly in his hand and stroking hard, pulling and pushing the foreskin back and forth over the head of his weeping cock before stopping to run his tongue through the damp slit. John’s knees practically buckled at the sensation, and he quickly moved both of his hands to the back of Sherlock’s head, both for balance and for encouragement.

Not that Sherlock needed any encouragement. He continued to lick and suck around the glans, occasionally stopping to take the swollen, reddened tip fully into his brilliant mouth, swirling his tongue around the edge of John’s foreskin in a way that, quite frankly, made him see fucking stars. 

Despite the intense sensation, John forced himself to stifle whimper after whimper, aware of his surroundings and eager to keep his vocalizations to a minimum. As thrilling as it was to engage in such a lewd act in an outdoor setting, John still had enough sense to know that getting caught with his dick in someone’s mouth (in the middle of an historical landmark, no less) would likely result in a pretty awkward court case.

 Of course, it didn’t take long for Sherlock to realize that John was holding back. Without warning, he reached up and gripped John’s arse with both hands. Wrapping his lips around the tip of John’s erection, he looked up at the doctor with a raised eyebrow and corresponding devilishly glint before roughly pulling John’s hips forward, swallowing his cock practically to the hilt.

Intended result achieved. John cried out loudly, the feel of his throbbing prick resting in the back of Sherlock’s throat almost too much to bear. He reached down to grasp the base of his cock tightly, willing himself not to come.

 “Don’t. Move. Yet,” John hissed out through gritted teeth. Sherlock obliged and held his position, hands still firmly clamped around John’s shapely arse, jaw relaxed to accommodate his thick member. John briefly wondered if Sherlock was having trouble breathing, but stopped caring the moment he felt the detective’s tongue press firmly against the underside of his shaft.

John grasped the back of Sherlock’s head tightly. “I said _don’t move,_ ” he whispered, Sherlock stilled again and looked up at his lover. John met his eyes, silently asking for consent, and Sherlock answered the unspoken question with a barely-perceptible nod.

With that, John abandoned every last bit of self-control he had been exercising and began pistoning his hips, immobilizing Sherlock’s head with both hands. He was beyond trying to silence his wanton cries, and he moaned without abandon as he watched his dick disappear into Sherlock’s warm and pliant mouth over and over again, the sensitive tip of his cock repeatedly striking the back of the younger man’s throat and sending painfully pleasurable shockwaves down his shaft and through his tightening bullocks.

The peaceful sounds of the approaching dusk were delightfully juxtaposed against John’s agonized gasps and the obscene, wet slide of his cock as he continued to fuck Sherlock’s face, his movements becoming faster and increasingly more erratic as he neared his release. “I’m coming,” he managed to choke out, just in time. Sherlock quickly moved his hands from John’s backside and hugged him tightly around his waist, relaxing his jaw completely as the doctor shouted and cursed, clutching Sherlock’s head tightly as his cock pulsed a thick, hot release directly down his lover’s throat.

John felt his knees weaken as the final throngs of his orgasm quivered through his body. Sherlock carefully pulled back, allowing John’s waning erection to slip from his mouth as he gripped the doctor by the waist and carefully eased him to a kneeling position on the gravel path.

John struggled to catch his breath, overcome with both sensation and emotion. He cradled Sherlock’s face and simply stared at him, taking a brief moment to appreciate his mussed hair, swollen lips, wild eyes, and desperate expression.

John grinned and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, sweeping his tongue through the detective’s mouth and tasting the bitter flavor of his seed. Sherlock whimpered, pushing his pelvis forward, his erection rock-hard against John’s thigh, straining against the constraints of his well-tailored trousers.

“Well done, private,” John whispered against Sherlock’s lips. He busied his fingers with undoing Sherlock’s fly. “Would you like to come now?” John slid his hand through the detective’s open trousers and ran his fingers lightly over his hot length.

Sherlock gasped and shuddered. “Yes sir. Please,” he begged quietly.

John pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock’s forehead as he pulled his throbbing prick out of his trousers and began stroking him earnestly. Sherlock moaned loudly and dropped his head to John’s shoulder, burying his face in the crook of his neck and reaching up with one arm to clutch at John’s upper back.

John continued to slide his palm firmly along Sherlock’s rigid, heated cock, occasionally swiping his thumb across the tip, smearing the precum along the shaft. “There you go, love,” John whispered, tilting his head to nuzzle Sherlock’s dark curls. The detective whimpered and pushed his hips in time with John’s quick strokes. John changed the angle of his grip so that the tip of Sherlock’s cock was resting on top of his own exposed member. “That’s it, “ he encouraged soothingly, quickening his pace, shivering as the slick head slipped along John’s softened, yet still sensitive, prick.

“John, I- I’m, “ Sherlock gasped and stuttered, attempting to pull away from John’s lap, likely fearing that he was about to make a mess.

“None of that, “ John admonished, pulling Sherlock back into position with his free arm. “I want your come, “ he hissed. “I want you to cover my cock with it.” John increased his pressure on Sherlock’s throbbing erection, as if to make a point. “Do it _now,_ ” he demanded.

The words were barely out of his mouth when Sherlock practically sobbed against John’s shoulder, flooding the doctor’s lap with his hot release. John squeezed his eyes shut and nuzzled his face against the top of Sherlock’s head, stroking him gently through his powerful orgasm, shivering at the feel of the thick come coating his dick, sliding down his groin and pooling beneath his balls.

John held Sherlock tightly, listening the detective’s breathing as it gradually slowed and returned to baseline.

“Alright then?” John murmured against Sherlock’s scalp.

Sherlock finally raised his head from John’s shoulder, gazing at the doctor’s face with hazy, unfocused eyes. “Hmmm,” he offered in reply, apparently unable to access his vast,  treasured vocabulary at that moment.

John grinned. “At least I know of one way to shut you up, even if it’s temporary,” he joked.

Sherlock smiled briefly, then suddenly dropped his head back to John’s shoulder, sneezing loudly and wetly against the skin of his neck.

“Ahhh,” John grimaced, cringing away in disgust. Sherlock sat up and rolled his eyes. “Really, John?” he said, reaching once again for his handkerchief. “You have a lapful of ejaculate and you’re going to get squeamish over a sneeze?”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Sherlock,” John responded, wiping the side of his neck with his hand. He looked down at his soaked trousers. “Though, now that you mention it, I probably should have thought that one through a little more.” He groaned inwardly, anticipating the awkward walk back to the main road with a large wet spot decorating the front of his pants.

Sherlock was already on his feet, having tucked himself back into his trousers and brushed the gravel from his knees. The fucking arsehole didn’t have a spot on him, of course, and looked as though the past fifteen minutes hadn’t even occurred. John, on the other hand, was a sticky, gravel-covered mess.

“How do you _always_ recover so quickly?” John complained, arranging himself carefully before pulling up his zip.  Sherlock merely grinned down at him and wordlessly shrugged out of his jacket, holding it out patiently for John to take. John rose to his feet stiffly, taking the jacket and holding it over his crotch. 

"I guess this will have to do," John sighed. 

Sherlock opened his mouth to comment, and again was foiled by a round of violent sneezes. He glared at John over the top of the handkerchief. "Dr. Watson, I'm beginning to suspect you may have lied to me regarding that 'research' you spoke of earlier," he said with feigned outrage.

John grinned. "Yeah, I may have been a little off on that," he admitted. "But you know what DOES stop allergic rhinitis?"

"Do NOT say 'an antihistamine.'"

"An antihistamine."

"No."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Yes. And yet you still choose to be with me. More of a statement on your character than on mine. Now...how do we get out of this absurd maze?"

"Wait, you don't know how to get out of here?"

"I was concetrating on finding the stolen goods. I can't think of EVERYTHING, John. Why didn't you think to grab a map at the beginning of the tour?"

John squeezed his eyes shut and slowly counted to ten, electing to use the time to count his blessings instead of wringing his partner's neck. When he opened them again, he saw that Sherlock was still standing in the same spot, grinning smugly.

"Of course I know how to get out of here," he admonished. He turned and started down the path. "Really, John, do you forget who you're talking to sometimes?"

John sighed defeatedly, but couldn't keep the tiny smile from his lips. "Nope," he replied as followed his lover through the maze. "How could I ever forget?"

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been to Hampton Court Palace, therefore all mentions of their security systems are purely fictional. Also, most of my knowledge of botany comes from Pinterest and Google search. 
> 
> So basically, if you're a palace guard or a groundskeeper, please excuse my bullshitting.


End file.
